


A Matter of Trust: A Conversation of Importance Between a Whitening and a Snail

by DarkwingSnark, Moonbeamcat



Series: BTAS Ask-Blog Universe [6]
Category: Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Look these men are fools take pity on them, M/M, Mutual Pining, Talk of using toxins and mind control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 07:48:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19313782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkwingSnark/pseuds/DarkwingSnark, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonbeamcat/pseuds/Moonbeamcat
Summary: Jonathan Crane decides it's time he and Jervis Tetch had a discussion. Whether answers are had is another matter entirely.





	A Matter of Trust: A Conversation of Importance Between a Whitening and a Snail

**Author's Note:**

> Ah yes, more RP shenanigans that happened behind the scenes of the blog. Mostly posting for archive purposes. Set after Bruce Wayne's Fundraiser Gala.  
> Mad Hatter: https://askthemadhatter.tumblr.com/  
> Scarecrow: https://askthescarecrow.tumblr.com/
> 
> Also is it just me, or does each title become more and more vague unless you actually know what's being referenced? EH, themeing. Y'gotta live with it.

Crane stared, thoughtfully, up at the crack in the wall, absentmindedly tapping a pencil against his desk, as he contemplated. Returning to reality after a night of near normalcy, had been a hard blow, a mild shock to the system. It had been so easy to blend in for once, enjoy himself among other human beings, without being feared or judged.

One night to pretend the man on his arm was his, rather than simply borrowed for an evening.

His gaze drifted over and down, and settled on the mask glaring at him eyelessly from the shelf. But didn’t he like being feared? Is that not what he strived for? Perhaps, but a part of him did miss being respected instead. He hadn’t needed to be feared back when he’d been seen as a normal, functioning member of society. People respected him for his genius.

“Now all I have left is you.” he growled at the lifeless mask, that only seemed to grin at him wider. Oh, but this was all a distraction. Crane sighed heavily, loudly, dramatically.

He’d promised Selina he’d speak to Jervis about the matter, and he’d fully intended on it. He expected to find great amusement in watching Jervis flush and sputter at being confronted with his unease, his fear. But now... it simply felt like an unneeded hassle. So what if Jervis was afraid? So what if he’d never trust him?

He was curious, that’s so what.

“I did promise her I would, you know.” He told the mask. It didn’t reply. It was just a mask. But it also didn’t argue.

Crane stood, and headed for the door, reaching out to take the mask-- and paused. No. No, this wasn’t a conversation the Scarecrow needed to be a part of. As tempting as the added intimidation was, he respected the man enough to have this conversation, face to face. He left without it, shutting the door behind him as he did.

He found Jervis in the kitchen ... or, what passed as such, preparing their evening tea. Crane could have simply sat down at the table and waited, but another idea seemed so much more intriguing. A mischievous smile spread across his face as he approached his companion from behind, the silence in his movements both natural and practiced. He peered over Jervis’ shoulder, making sure no boiling water was being held, and then spoke.

“Six already? My, how time flies.”

Silverware clattered onto the table top, a metallic encore for the trick played on the poor old Hatter, even as he flinched. The whip of the Englishman’s head, eyes wide in delicious fear, quickly settled to a look of recognition.

“ **Jonathan!** ” Jervis cried indignantly, practically breathless as his tone rose an octave. “Oh, I really **wish** you wouldn’t sneak about.  _ You gave me half a fright _ , you know. What if I had been carrying the tray?”

It was with a flick of his wrist that Tetch gestured to the silver tray on the makeshift countertop. Kettle, two cups, cream and sugar bowl. Why, even a few slices of zucchini bread, plated and ready to be served. An indicator the Hatter had been planning on bringing the tea to  **him** , rather than beaconing the professor out from his study.

Seeing fear dawn in the eyes of another was something Jonathan Crane had grown used to, in fact craved. Watching fear dissipate from someone’s eyes upon seeing him was a pleasure of a completely different nature, and an occurrence reserved for one individual.

And it only made the ex-professor even more perplexed, more curious. If not fear, than what? What form of unease plagued the Mad Hatter? Or, perhaps, the man was merely very good at masking his fear.  _ Hmmm. _

Crane suddenly realized he’d been staring into those blue eyes, searching for answers, and perhaps something else, for an uncomfortably long time. He blinked and averted his gaze, shrugging lazily.

“I’m not sure, although I could wager an educated guess. Would you like to test it out, take it from the top?”

A smirk, as he let his eyes drift back to Jervis’.

“Or would you prefer to sit and share a cup of tea with the Master of Fear, instead?”

The Hatter blinked a couple of times, tilting his head to the side before huffing out softly-- the man trying his best to keep his own amusement out of his voice, even as he turned away from his flatmate to grab the tray.

“Master of Fear,  **indeed.** Someone is certainly in good spirits this evening, to go out of his way to pick on  _ a poor old hatter. _ ” 

This, of course, was all a part of the game Jervis shared with the other man. Scolding lightly at the antics, while not entirely meaning it. While the Englishman wasn’t someone who enjoyed being startled half to death--  _ Jervis was almost positive one of these days his heart would stop for sure! _ \-- there was, however,  charm in the way Jonathan lit up from the act. An infectious youthfulness that would overcome him, as he loomed in to soak up every last drop of nectar from the shorter man.

The fact it made Jervis feel important, special, was just secondary.

Hatter made his way over to what passed as their dining room, something more of a label for Jervis’ own mind as he had tried his very best to make a home out of the abandoned factory they lived in. The professor was pulling out his chair to join him, even as the Englishman began placing things from tray to table top. Cup and saucer, three spoonfuls of sugar-- no cream-- the way Jonathan preferred his earl grey. Jervis placed the drink and its accompanying treat gingerly in front of the man, nudging the zucchini bread slightly closer as if to subtly tempt the professor into having a taste.

“Thank you, it looks lovely.”

There was something about tea time that reduced Jonathan Crane to a mere man, not the Harbinger of Doom. It was now the notion of Jervis fearing him seemed ... ridiculous. Who would bother to fear the man they’d spent countless evenings with, sipping tea and exchanging pleasantries with?

There was a chance Jervis Tetch didn’t fear him. But it was undeniable that Jervis Tetch respected him.

Jonathan frowned over the lip of his tea cup as an uncomfortable mix of guilt and gratitude cinched his chest. He realized that if he didn’t bring it up now, he may convince himself not to at all.

“Jervis, do you feel comfortable here?” Yes! Strong, right out of the gate. “You’ve turned it into a ... delightful little living space, but perhaps a large, cold, industrial building isn’t your preferred setting.”

“Hmm,” this came out as a hum from Jervis, as he had just finished preparing his own drink and took a sip while the man across from him began speaking. Jervis swallowed, setting down his cup as he quirked a brow.

“Do I feel comfortable here? Whatever do you mean, Jonathan?” 

Personally, the Englishman had thought he had done a wonderful job thus far. While there were still many rooms in the factory left unused-- the fact remained that they had practically all the furnishing required to make a proper home. Their little slice of Wonderland.  And even then, he assumed the professor would use the remaining space  _ eventually _ \-- it was only a matter of time before he would search for test subjects once more. Filling their home with screams.

Confusion turned to concern, as Jervis sat up straighter in his seat.

“Is something wrong? I didn’t forget anything that you might require, did I, dear?”

“ _Hmmm._ ” So it wasn’t the building. “No, I’m fine.” He replied, dismissively, practically a mumble. He picked up the piece of bread and inspected it, distractedly.

“Then perhaps you’ve been feeling, restless? A case of cabin fever? I mean, an extrovert, living the life of an introvert, why, it must be so very stressful.”

Crane took a bite and raised a brow, expectantly.     

Even the likes of Jervis Tetch wasn’t oblivious enough to overlook that something was amiss. It was his turn to assess the professor, slowly sipping and taking in the warmth of his tea, before gently placing the china onto its saucer. 

“Actually, I tend to be a bit of a homebody by nature. And I’ve had plenty of visits as of late to tide myself over.” Hatter  _ was _ looking forward to brunch with Selina Kyle the following week. Yet, he didn’t feel as if that needed to be voiced. Crane was already  _ very much _ aware of his feelings on  **that** matter. Jervis’ brows furrowed. “Jonathan… what is this really about? I might be better at answering if I knew what you truly needed for me to answer.”

The bread was placed back on its plate, the cup picked up in its place. Jonathan peered at Jervis over the top of it, as if observing him curiously, and said nothing.

How did one say he’d been spending less and less time around the factory, without sounding clingy? How did one voice they felt as if they were being avoided, without sounding obsessive and needy? After awhile, carefully picking his words, he finally broke the uncomfortable silence.

“You’ve been... distant, lately. Avoidant, even. You owe me nothing, Tetch, I’m simply ... concerned. Tell me, are you still thinking about your parents? You haven’t spoken of them in some time. You can, you know. Talk to me about it, I mean. If you need to.”

And just like that, the Englishman felt his blood chill in his veins as dread hit him hard and hit him fast. Oh… Jonathan had noticed that, had he? Jervis had hoped, with the man’s habit of staying within his study for most of the day, that his slipping out would have gone unnoticed. Although, he supposed his staying at Doctor Fries’ home for a day and a half didn’t help matters either. It was his turn to fret over how to explain the situation, without giving hints to the actual circumstances of his avoidance.

“I apologize,” Jervis began, fiddling nervously with his cup, twisting and turning it as a distraction. “I’m sure my constant change in behavior must be hard to deal with, and for that I  **am** truly sorry. If it would help set your mind at ease at all, I do believe I’ve gotten over the hump of my parents for the most part.” The Englishman thought about the fact it was Father’s Day, and how, despite the fact he would have given the eldest Mr. Tetch a ring under  _ normal _ circumstances, he had…. Made peace with it as much as he could. He would much rather think about those who wished to enjoy his company over those who did not.

Jervis’ eyes landed upon the man across from him, his heart mildly fluttering as he remembered the fact the professor was one of the few people that did care. That not only put up with him, but  **wanted** his company. It was a fact that brought him immense joy and relief.

_ Even if it brought along its own set of problems in the process. _

Crane watched, studied, Jervis' actions and body language carefully. He was definitely … nervous. Perhaps a little fearful? But, this fear wasn't directed at him. _ Fascinating. _

"I'm relieved to hear that. Although it, wasn't an apology I was seeking, Jervis. I don't bring the topic up out of concern of inconvenience on  **my** behalf."

Crane let his eyes drift away back to his plate, picking up his bread and taking another bite.

"You're nervous, even now." He added, after he'd swallowed. "I'll restate, you owe me nothing. You're allowed your secrets. But is it really something you don't feel you can talk to me about? Even still? Just tell me yes, and I won't bring it up again."

It was always good to know where one stood.

And there was the dilemma: what was the Englishman supposed to say, **exactly?**

_ ‘Oh Jonathan, all my behavior as of late can be boiled down to one fact and one fact alone: I’ve found myself positively  _ **_smitten_ ** _ by you. Having you too near causes my heart to pitter-patter within its chest, sometimes to the point I fear you can hear it as well. Very much like the beating of a dead man’s heart living within the floorboards, haunting us  _ **_both_ ** _. Yet, I am more than aware by your preference to remain a bachelor. You have  _ **_no place_ ** _ within your life for me to be that sort of inconvenience for you. And despite logically knowing this, I  _ **_foolishly_ ** _ still love you all the same _ .’

**No.** That would simply not do. If anything, it would twist the knife, causing Jonathan to reject him all the more. Yet, he respected the man across from him far too much to outright lie. Loved him and his mind far too much to treat him as if he wasn’t one of the most intelligent beings he had ever met. And so, swallowing the lump in his throat, Tetch did his best to set the matter straight.

“On this matter, and this matter alone… It is not something you need to trouble yourself with, Jonathan. I’m handling the situation to the best of my abilities.”

Crane's frustration was rising steadily. Side-stepping the question, dancing around the issue, avoiding reality, that's all Jervis Tetch ever did. It was **infuriating.** But Jonathan had one more try left in him. He huffed, tapping his fingers against the side of his cup.

"Even if I  _ wished _ to trouble myself with it? Even if I asked to be a part of it? You would still rather face this issue  **alone** ?"

Being concerned with others' feelings and problems was still new, unknown, uncomfortable territory. Outright asking, practically begging, someone to let him help, felt...  _ dirty _ . Like he was debasing himself. And yet, a part of him legitimately believed it would be worth it, should Jervis give in.

However, all the Englishman did was drink his tea-- refusing to say anything at all.

Frustration continued to rise, boiling quickly into a volatile mixture of rage and hurt. Crane finished his tea in one large gulp, slamming the empty cup onto the table, and scowling across at the stubborn man.

"I see!" He nearly shouted, standing abruptly. "It's good to know where I stand with you, Tetch. Oh yes, very good, indeed! … Thank you for the tea. The bread was delightful." He collected his used dishes, and took them with him to deposit them in the dirty dishes basin.

Jervis nearly choked on his tea from the outburst, sputtering and coughing even as he put down his cup and quickly stood up from his seat.

“Jonathan,  _ wait! _ ” Tetch scurried from around the table, holding his hat as he tried to catch up with the man before he stormed off into his study. “Please, understand it isn’t anything  _ personal _ against  **you** . You’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. Just...  _ trust me _ when I say it simply isn’t something I can talk about!”

Crane halted, and glared down at the man before him, dark eyes burning into him with newfound fury.

" _Trust you?_ "

How dare he? How dare this man stand here and challenge him? How dare he ask for trust, when he'd refused to give it, himself? Crane had grown comfortable, complacent, with knowing the two of them were … _ close. _ It had even, on more than one occasion, crossed his mind that it was possible Jervis had …  _ feelings _ for him. To have all of that stripped away, finding out he'd been  **wrong** , that they weren't as close as he thought they were... Jonathan Crane had never felt an emotional pain quite like this before. No one had the right to hurt the Scarecrow this way.

"Trust, I find, is a two-way street, **Tetch**." His tone was calm, but sharp, as if forced to a dangerous degree, a highly compressed and volatile temper threatening to explode.

The tone, the glare, the cold use of his surname, it was all enough to feel as if Hatter had been slapped into reality-- very much like young Alice jolting awake after being attacked by a pack of cards. The Englishman suddenly felt like he was being put on trial, the fury of the jury ready to sentence him to an unhappy demise should he say the wrong thing.

Things were escalating out of his control, and Hatter did  **not** like it. 

“This is ridiculous,” Jervis tried to reason, “of  _ course _ I trust you. I wouldn’t share a home with a man I didn’t feel  **safe** with. You  **must** at least realize that,  _ surely? _ ”

Jonathan shifted his weight and crossed his arms, but didn't break his glare. "You won't talk to me about your problems, but you'll share a bed with me. That really only proves you don't view me as a threat." His expression changed then, a flash of hurt surprise, and then his scowl was back.

"And quite frankly, that's a little insulting, Jervis Tetch. Am I, the Scarecrow, the almighty Lord of Despair, nothing but a big joke to you? You can at least be honest about  **that** , can't you?"

He'd lost the battle of keeping his calm, and was shouting by the end of it, his previously crossed arms gesturing about for emphasis.

The Englishman found himself growing flushed from the mention of their sleeping arrangements, the conversation sounding  _ far  _ more intimate to his ears than the conversation warranted. Looking away, Jervis huffed.

“That seems like quite the leap in logic there,  _ Jonathan Crane. _ ” If his flatmate was going to be petty and throw full names about, then it was only fair for Hatter to respond in kind. “ Outside of this, have I really done anything to show you I think so little of you? Have I not shown, on many occasions, how much… how much I  **desire** your company? ‘ _ Nothing but a big joke _ ’, really now. You’re a grown man, acting as if you’re still a child.”

The Mad Hatter, a man obsessed with a children's story, had just accused him of being immature. If Jonathan had needed any more proof he wasn't seen as a threat, wasn't being taken seriously in the slightest, he'd just gotten it. His glare sharpened, his scowl deepening.

"Then you won't be asked to babysit this  **child** any longer." He hissed through clenched teeth, stepping around the rude roadblock and stalking away toward his study. Venomous, dark ideas swirled around in his head. Oh, he would leave, come tomorrow night, but perhaps before he did, he'd consider leaving Jervis Tetch with a reminder of just why you don't mistake the Scarecrow for a powerless fool.

Jervis, meanwhile, was beginning to panic. Control was slipping from his grasp by the second. Yet… the question became, what was a poor hatter to do? Let Jonathan be angry at him, the bridge of trust the two had developed suddenly crashing down into nothingness at his very feet? Or was Jervis to tell the truth: having the Georgian man know he craved him beyond their close companionship? That path, oh, it was a surefire way to have everything between them perish in a puff of smoke and flames.

But he was losing Jonathan Crane  **now** , standing there not doing anything at all.

It was then that an idea hit the Englishman. A way to get Crane to see just how  **seriously** he took him, in all matters. A way to take responsibility off himself, as all the cards would be in Jonathan’s hands. The notion seemed  **mad** \-- but dire times called for extreme measures, did they not? 

Ripping off his hat from his head, Jervis did a mad dash across the room to where he knew one of his trinkets remained from when he was working on them the day prior. It was then, perhaps far louder than what was needed, that Tetch called out to his friend with all the desperation he could muster.

“Jonathan, PLEASE.  **Stop** .”

Jervis didn’t know what had caused the other man to listen, but gratitude washed over him as he made his way closer, holding out both a 10/6 card and his mind control band to the Master of Fear.

“You say I don’t trust you. You say I think of you as a joke. I… I  **don’t,** Jonathan. Perhaps I don’t quite know how to communicate my… _ issues _ , “ here Hatter winced, more from the ineloquent phrasing than anything, but tried his best to carry on. “But… But I don’t wish for you to walk away thinking I don’t  **care** for you either. So… here. Take these,  _ please _ . If you need to hear what’s wrong so desperately, if this is  _ truly _ the only way you’ll believe that I  **respect** you… I… I would rather  **you** be the one to force it from me.” 

Jervis’ hands were shaking, his hat suddenly feeling like a heavy burden to him. The Englishman swallowed down his dread as he finalized his last command. 

“Here, Jonathan, ask me how I  _ really _ feel.”

Jonathan's anger was momentarily lessened by surprise and confusion. He took the offered items, and stared at them, dumbly, as if not fully comprehending what he was meant to do with them.

And then he did understand. Jervis had just given him the key to his innermost thoughts, his deepest secrets, his complete and total obedience. He had practically prostrated himself at Crane's feet, submitting to him completely, his mind lain open, bare, vulnerable.

It excited him greatly. He held in his hands, the most dreadful temptation. The tool that would grant him all of his **carnal desires** .

But Jonathan had seen the blank, dead eyes of those under the cards' spell. The thought of Jervis' eyes staring at him, without seeing him, wasn't  _ desirable _ in the slightest. If he was to have Jervis Tetch, he'd  much prefer the man be there for it. His favorite thing about Jervis was his brilliant mind, and without it, it wouldn't be _ passion _ , it would simply be …  **disgusting** . Jonathan Crane was awful in many ways, but this was **not** one of them.

The fact Crane's mind had gone there before even thinking once about using it for its intended purpose told him he didn't  **deserve** to know the Hatter's most coveted secrets. Perhaps the man was right to be wary, after all.

"You know … displaying this level of trust toward someone like me was perhaps the most reckless, foolish thing I have ever witnessed you do." Despite his chiding, he wore a soft smirk, as he tipped the hat this way and that, inspecting it.

"But it's … greatly appreciated." He reached out and perched the hat back on its rightful owner's head. "I apologize for overstepping my bounds. Can you … at least tell me why you've not been sleeping? Petty feelings aside, I do worry about your health. Can I, at the very least, help with that?"

Jervis had recoiled slightly when the other man had moved closer, despite how desperately he had tried not to. He watched, wide eyes, as Jonathan placed it gingerly on his person, almost not believing the fact his gamble had been correct. With it came a sense of gratitude, a shaky sigh leaving him as a sad smile made its way to his face.

“I… suppose I do owe you at least that much, all things considered.” Hatter fiddled with his hands, as he did his best to explain himself. “I’m afraid every so often I become… hyper-aware of my surroundings. My senses too keen when I don’t have the means to distract myself. Cloth becomes too coarse, the ringing of my ears overpowering the silence. There becomes too much muchness, I suppose. I get…  _ restless _ .”

Not exactly a lie, even if it didn’t fully cover what had sparked it all to begin with.

Crane nodded, as if to imply that yes, yes that made perfect sense. He supposed that was something Arkham provided that life in hiding couldn't; the few medications that actually helped.

"Well, I'm sure I could procure medication to aid with that, but I imagine it'll take some time. Meanwhile, do you suppose having the radio playing at night would help?"

Jonathan much preferred silence to fall asleep to … but sleep had also been easier the past few months. He had no doubt he'd adjust.

The notion of the other man running off, breaking into a pharmaceutical simply to help the Englishman was  **kind** , in its own right. Positively saccharine in a way that showed just how deep Crane’s dedication for him went.  However, it also struck a familiar fear within Tetch-- an anxiety that had only been growing as of late, when he pictured Scarecrow doing heists on his own. Seeing how beaten and bruised Mister Freeze was over his exchange with the Batman,  _ that frumious bandersnatch _ , made it occurred that Jonathan could experience a similar fate.  _ Or worse. _ The professor could end up captured, sent back to Arkham Asylum, or… or he could be severely injured, bleeding within some dark and dirty alley-way-- perishing within the gutters!

“ **No.** ” Jervis, perhaps, said this too forceful. Realizing this, he quickly tried to explain himself. “No to medicating, that is. You need not go through all that trouble, love, as I think testing the waters with the soft melodic tones of Debussy should be enough to soothe  _ this _ tired soul. If you’re positive it wouldn’t cause any issues with you, I would be more than willing to give it a try.”

Yes, Crane supposed it made sense for Tetch to feel wary around medication. They were so easy to become addicted to, and the withdrawals were never pleasant.

"Alright." Crane shrugged. "Just music it is. Now if, you'll excuse me, I have..." He suddenly realized he was still holding the card. He awkwardly handed it over before continuing. "some things that require attending to."

Jervis looked at the card within his hands, fiddling with it for a moment before deciding there was one last thing he wanted to say before his flatmate went off to take care of his business.

“Jonathan?” The man in question quirked a brow, indicating his permission to continue. The Englishman carried on. “I really am sorry if I made it come across as otherwise, but… I truly do love being here with you. If you must have certainty on anything, I wish for you to know that as my undeniable conviction.” Hatter beamed up at his friend. “What sort of mad tea party would it be without my March Hare, after all?”

Moments ago, Jonathan Crane had been ready to gas this man, and leave forever, marking Jervis Tetch as one of his foes. And now, he stood there, filled with electric flutter, brought on by nothing more than a smile. Love was a dangerous emotion, and Jervis Tetch was a dangerous man because of it. The effect he had on Jonathan was  _ terrifying _ .

But terror had a way of being intoxicating for some.

"As disheartening as a Hatter without his smile, I'd imagine." He replied, patting Jervis' shoulder and turning to leave.

"Good night, Jervis. Don't forget the radio when you head in for bed."


End file.
